


Perchance to Dream

by pippen2112



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Death, Heavy Angst, M/M, Mild Gore, Psychological Break
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-19 13:32:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11898786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pippen2112/pseuds/pippen2112
Summary: "This is Agent Carolina calling the space craft A'rynasea. Tucker, for the thousandth time: Get. Back. Here. Just talk to--"Tucker flips to the next channel.





	Perchance to Dream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kirei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirei/gifts).



> Written for Kirei who gave me an evil prompt. Please note the warnings.

Tucker's hands are steady as he cycles through the long range communications on his shuttle.  Mostly there's just static, but here and there he gets little flickers of sound.  Of life.  They've been drifting so long, lost in the void, that Tucker perks up at the sound of new voices, until their words land.

_ "This is Agent Carolina calling the space craft A'rynasea. Tucker, for the thousandth time: Get. Back. Here. Just talk to--" _

Tucker flips to the next channel, lets the static rumble through the cabin.  He rubs his eyes so hard he sees starbursts, but it's not enough.  Never enough to shake Carolina's weary tone, the worry soaked into her words.   _ Jesus, will she quit already? _  Tucker looks down at the ancient sword clipped to his left hip, every bit the match for his own sword except for the dull brown stains along the handle.  Figures Locus would let so valuable a relic get dirty.  Tucker scoffs.   _ Never should've trusted him.  Now look where it's got us. _

Shaking his head, Tucker turns his attention to the navigation controls, picking a course seemingly at random, kicking the engines into gear, and forcing his old team from his thoughts. Simmons and Sarge, Donut and Grif.  Carolina.  Caboose.  He'll go back to them as soon as he's ready.   _ As soon as we're ready _ , he corrects.  He just needs a little more time.

#

Later, maybe minutes, maybe hours for all he knows, Tucker startles out of a daze at the sound of grumbles coming from the back of the ship's cabin.   _ Must've dosed off.  Fuck _ .  Tucker stretches and checks over his shoulder.  On their makeshift little pallet, Tucker sees Wash rocking slowly, wrapped head to toe in blankets.  Poor Wash, the Blues and Reds did a number on him.  Even as he sleeps, he still makes little sounds of pain that break Tucker's heart. 

Without another thought, Tucker sets the controls to auto-pilot, keeping their course straight and true and trudges over to their shitty excuse for a bed.  Tucker strips off his armor carefully--if by some miracle they cross another ship, Tucker has the proximity sensors set so he can make a break for it--and lays down, curling around Wash and drawing another blanket around his shoulders. 

Up close, Wash smells sick and feels eerily cold, but he's pressed up close to the heating vent.  "Easy there, Wash," Tucker murmurs against Wash's neck, dropping kisses when he pauses for breath.  "You're gonna be okay.  I mean, you've survived so much worse than this.  Whatever bug you picked up, it'll blow over.  Hell, you rolled over on your own this morning.  That's gotta count for something."

Tucker rolls Wash over and pulls him into his arms.  "Rest up.  You're gonna be okay, and everything will be better.  Just you wait and see."  He presses his cheek against the crown of Wash's head, holds him tight, and lets his eyes rest.  Just for a bit.  Just enough to keep going.

#

Tucker jolts awake out of a nightmare, the same one he's been having since he ran away: Locus's half-hearted words directed at Tucker, his impersonal helmet glaring down at him, his hand coiling around his sword and striking.  He stares at the multicolored walls around him, pulsing bright as they do every time they take in stellar radiation and synthesize it into fuel.  But with the ship bright as a beacon, Tucker can't help but see.

Grimey dull hair.

Face eerily relaxed.

Ashen skin.

Blood crusting the ragged exit wound.

Chest cold and still.

Eyes wide open and blank.

Tucker gives Wash a soft sad smile and squeezes him tighter.  "C'mon, Wash.  Quit being so dramatic.  You're gonna be fine."

_ You have to be. _

Sooner than he'd like, Tucker gets out of bed and suits up but not before tucking the blankets under Wash's chin and rolling him toward the heating vents so he can stay warm. Dropping into the pilot's chair, Tucker scans the controls.  Now that the ship's refueled, they can fly a little longer, search a little farther, find something, anything to help make Wash better.  Fuck, if Tucker can give birth to a half-breed alien baby, there's gotta be something out in the universe for Wash.

Until then he'll just have to live with the smell.

  
  


 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and concrit welcome! Come scream with me on Tumblr (birdsbeesandlemonadetrees.tumblr.com)


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